


If I could find a way...

by Harry1981



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Heavy Angst, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:47:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28714506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harry1981/pseuds/Harry1981
Summary: The thing was, Bilbo Baggins was fine. He was good. His life was good. He was a professor at a prestigious university, teaching literature- the first love of his life. He was loved by a lot of his peers and had a good relationship with his students as well as the Professors. He had a quaint little home gifted to him by his parents Bungo and Belladonna, who lived just a few hours’ drive from the city. He had an elder sister Prim who adored him and her husband Drogo, a distant cousin from his father’s side who liked Bilbo well enough. He had a nephew named Frodo who was just the most delightful boy Bilbo had ever laid eyes upon.Bilbo had his tea, his books, his everything. Yet, on a rather cloudy day, as he sat on the terrace of some building, he couldn’t help but imagine how bad would it be if he just...jumped.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins & Thorin Oakenshield, Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Comments: 36
Kudos: 61





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS!!! This fic is going to be an exploration of thoughts and could get heavy, AND IF THAT IS NOT YOUR CUP OF TEA, ABORT MISSION NOW!!
> 
> Now that we are done with that, hello to you all. This plot bunny came and attacked me all of a sudden. This fic's gonna get serious buds, not a lot of humor. So buckle your seatbelts, and get ready for the ride.
> 
> P.S.: If some of you are going through hard times, and often have thoughts, please do not hesitate to reach out. My PMs are always open to talking, and if this fic gets heavy then please do not read.

Everyone knew Bilbo enjoyed exactly three things in life- tea, books, and flowers. His kitchen cabinet was filled with a variety of teas, his bookshelves overflowing with gifted books, and his garden showing beautiful colors.

A cold wind gushed around the backyard, where a wooden armchair stood beside a coffee table. On the table lay a white cup and saucer, blue designs are drawn carefully and intricately. A book lay nearby, a bookmark half shoved somewhere between the pages. The wind ruffled the golden curls and swirled on the cheeks of Bilbo Baggins.

Despite the weather or the nearby shouts of children, there was no change in Bilbo’s posture. He sat still, his eyes fixed at nothing in the sky. His mobile phone, which lay beside the book, kept buzzing every few minutes. Bilbo looked at it from the corner of his eyes to check if it was his parents or maybe his sister and her husband.

He sat there, alone, still, until his phone chimed the alarm. Bilbo let out a deep sigh and picked up the phone to check his schedule for the day. Three classes, all after lunch. It was not bad.

With a deep breath, Bilbo stood up and stretched. He dumped the cold tea in the drain and clicked his tongue. Yet another wonderful packet wasted.

Bilbo put the book back on the bookshelf and realized he had no idea what it was about or if it was the same one he was reading the night before. Or if he even read it that morning.

A stream of cold shower fell on his face, and bilbo shivered for exactly five seconds before relishing the cold water on his skin. Every inch of his body was shuddering, and his muscles stiffened. It woke him up.

He grabbed the satchel that had his laptop, the few books he had laid down as soon as he had come back from the college the day before, and his tweed jacket. The hairbrush was found under his bed, and Bilbo tried to tame his curls but failed miserably. Bilbo gave up, trying to fix his hair but it was of no use. As he looked at himself in the mirror, he saw the eyes that remained clouded even to him.

“It’s okay, Baggins,” he muttered, plastering a smile on his face, “Nothing’s wrong, all right? Everything’s fine. Don’t worry. Everything’s okay.”

Because the truth was, everything was quite fine. He was good. His life was good.

Bilbo Baggins was a professor in a prestigious university, teaching literature- the first love of his life. He was loved by a lot of his peers and had a good relationship with his students as well as the Professors. He had a quaint little home gifted to him by his parents Bungo and Belladonna, who lived just a few hours’ drive from the city. He had an elder sister, Primula, who adored him and her husband, Drogo, a distant cousin from his father’s side who liked Bilbo well enough. He had a nephew named Frodo who was just the most delightful boy Bilbo had ever laid eyes upon.

So all in all, Bilbo’s life was good. He was fine.

Yet every day whenever his mind was allowed to linger for even a moment, Bilbo felt empty. Like a heavy chest that stands adorned on the outside but has absolutely nothing inside.

* * *

Like every day, Bilbo greeted all his class with a smile. Some responded others didn’t. There was mixed participation in his class, and Bilbo took those silent moments to formulate his next question. 

When he was done with his classes, Bilbo shared some time with Dr. Proudfoot and Dr. Gamgee in the cafeteria.

“And then he says, ‘Papa’. Can you believe it?” Hamfest Gamgee said excitedly, “My dear Sammy called me Papa!”

Bilbo grinned, “That’s brilliant, Hamfest. His birthday is coming up, is it not?”

“Next week, yes!” Hamfest nodded, “Oh we are going to throw him the best party. You are all invited!”

Dr. Prodfoot smiled, “Sure, sure, we’ll be there. As soon as I am done correcting the bloody papers.”

Bilbo winced, “Kids still do not understand the question?”

“Don’t get me started,” he muttered, “Those Durin boys, they think just because they are rich that everything’s a joke. When I asked them, where is the research, they said, ‘in our head’.”

Hamfest tried to contain his snicker as Proudfoot continued, “And when I asked them why exactly is their project so similar, do you know what they said?”

“What?” Bilbo asked cautiously.

“ ‘Because we copied from each other.’ I mean, what?”

Unable to help himself, Bilbo laughed. Proudfoot continued to complain, and Hamfest added to the stories. Bilbo just sat there, listening to the stories. He had no such tales, or perhaps he did and just did not remember.

The evening came to an end, and as darkness began to fall on the streets of the city, Bilbo found himself walking back to his home. 

As he walked down the street, ignoring the hundreds of others who had either plugged in the earphones or were chattering with their friends, Bilbo wanted to do something. Maybe call up his father or sister. Talk to them. Do something. 

But there was nothing to do. Nothing that could make things better. 

He let his legs carry him somewhere. He entered a building, some sort of a hotel by the looks of it. Bilbo took the lift because walking seemed too hard. 

His head was a cacophony of noise, and Bilbo was not sure what he was doing. How he was doing it. Why he was doing it. His own body was not in his control, and yet so much. Each moment, it was not in his control yet so aware of what he was doing. 

When Bilbo walked out of the lift and took the stairs to the terrace, he did not know. All he knew was the darkening purple sky above his head, with the moon peeping from the east and the noise of cars and people down below. 

Pulling his bag, Bilbo looked down on the street. Everyone looked likes ants. He did not know how high up he was. He wondered, how bad it would be if he just...jumped.

Bilbo took a deep breath, taking the phone out of his satchel. He opened the lock and looked at his messages. His family was at the top. He should probably say sorry. Or something. They did not need so many problems. If he jumped, they would have to go through so much. He knew how expensive funerals could be. Prim would be devastated, and Drogo no better. His Dad would never talk to anyone again, maybe.

But he did not want to live either. It was so much, doing the general things he did every day. It was a problem, an issue hanging over his head. He never knew what he did, but he stood there still. If he died, it would not be his problem anymore. Right?

“Excuse me?”

Bilbo groaned. Of course, just when he had almost gathered his courage someone had to come. Just at the moment.

“What?” he snapped back, irritated.

Footsteps were getting closer to him, but they stopped a few steps away. Bilbo looked over his shoulder, spotting what looked like a three-piece suit.

“Mister, you are sitting on the ledge,” the man said, a deep baritone voice, “Could you kindly step back?”

“Why?” Bilbo asked tiredly, “What difference would it make?”

The man took in a sharp breath, “It could potentially save your life.”

“I don’t want to be saved,” Bilbo muttered, looking back at the rising towers around him on the backdrop of a purple sky, “There is nothing.”

“Umm,” The man took another step forward, “That’s a rather nihilistic approach to life, don’t you think?”

“I am sorry, are you a philosopher?”

“My brother says I am quite a thinker.”

It was probably a joke, but Bilbo was far too tired to actually laugh. 

“Please sir,” said the voice again, and there was a desperation in his voice as he spoke, “I would ask you to step back.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Think of your family,” he said slowly, “If an hour from now, they hear about your death, how would they react?”

Bilbo pulled in a shuddering breath. Yes, he knew how they would react. He did not need to think about it. 

“I don’t need to think about it,” he whispered, his vision clouding. The corners of his eyes were filling up with tears, and his throat was closing up. 

A hand appeared beside him. Bilbo looked it, cautiously, scared, unsure of what to accept.

“Take my hand. Please.”

In the moments to come, Bilbo would not be sure why he grasped on the hand. Perhaps because a part of his heart was screaming to be saved, and someone was offering that to him. Perhaps because he was not ready for a call to go to his family which told them that their son was dead. In the end, it probably did not matter because Bilbo pushed back his phone and satchel and grabbed the hand.

Had the man not been as strong as he was, Bilbo would have pulled him down as he lost his footing. But not only did the man hold on to him but pulled him close to his chest, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you okay?” he asked, looking down in concern.

Bilbo looked up in those light blue eyes. The man had long, black hair, reaching past his shoulders. He had pulled back a bun. Gulping, Bilbo nodded, not sure how to react.

“Good,” the man said, pushing Bilbo away slightly, “Are you okay?”

Bilbo nodded. He was not sure how else to react. 

“Great. May I have your name?”

“Bilbo,” he whispered.

“Bilbo,” the man repeated with a smile, “lovely. My name is Thorin. Can you tell me where you live, Bilbo?”

Somehow, with the shudders still racking his brain, Bilbo told Thorin his home address. The next moment, somehow, bilbo was sitting on the passenger’s seat and the man, Thorin, was pulling up his car on Bilbo’s driveway.

“Is this your house?” he asked.

Bilbo nodded. He grabbed his phone- which now had a brand new crack- and his satchel. He nodded to Thorin and walked out of the car. Maybe he said thank you, maybe he did not. Bilbo could not quite remember. 

All he could remember was walking slowly inside the house, dropping his satchel in the living room, and falling on his bed. No tears came, not really. In the end, they were not even necessary.

The next day, Bilbo Baggins booked an appointment with a therapist.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your replies, everyone. This is gonna be a confusing ride, with lost of good and bad.   
> Wanted to clarify, this is not a knight in shining armour story where the dude will swoop in and all of Bilbo’s problems will disappear. That just doesn't happen. So, let's sit back and stay on the ride.

The morning came, and no one knew what happened the day before. No one would know, as long as Bilbo had a say in it. There were moments when he lost control, but he was a logical person. Bilbo knew what was to be expected and what was to be done. So he kept mum.

After booking an appointment with Elrond- a known therapist, according to the Internet- Bilbo walked into the kitchen. His stomach was growling, having had nothing to eat last night. As much as he never wanted to eat, well, anything, his body disagreed. It reminded him that he did indeed need to eat, and sleep, and take a walk.

Bilbo groaned, craning his neck. It was too much work. Everything was too much work. Even as his stomach growled loudly, Bilbo could not imagine stomaching anything. A cup of tea would have to suffice.

Pulling open the cupboard, Bilbo sighed. There were far too many types of tea in there, and he could not choose. Why did he even have to choose?

Grabbing a random packet, Bilbo put the kettle to boil. Each second seemed to stretch. He started tapping his foot, but he could not really make the time go faster.

Music would only add to his headache, so Bilbo grabbed his phone and video called his sister. As always, Prim picked up on the first ring.

“ _Heya Bub!”_

Prim’s voice washed over Bilbo and settled a sense of calm within him. Bilbo smiled at the miniature face on his mobile phone. Unlike Bilbo, who had honey-coloured curls, Primula had black hair which extended up to her shoulder. She had a face which looked older, no matter what age you were. There was something calming about talking to her.

“Hey Prim,” Bilbo said with a smile, “How are you doing?”

Primula groaned,  _ “So-so. Drogo has a big project coming up so he is hardly home and Frodo is being a rascal.” _

“ _I AM NOT!”_ came a voice from somewhere in the phone, and Bilbo found himself grinning.

“Giving your trouble?” he asked, fetching the sugar from the shelf. It was at low, he would have to go shopping again. The very thought of interacting with people he did not know made his stomach churn. They would stare at him and think something or the other. He really did not want to face anyone.

“ _So much,”_ Primula scoffed, “ _Remind me to never have a teenager.”_

“You don’t actually have a teenager, babies grow into one,” Bilbo pointed out.

Prim rolled her eyes, “ _ Well, yes. But I can’t deal with them. Mum was so lucky, she never had to deal with us at being our bratty teens.” _

Bilbo sighed, nodding, “Yeah. Can’t even ask her for ideas, huh?”

“ _She would give me a wacky idea, which, thank you very much, I am not taking,”_ Prim said seriously, “ _Getting parenting tips from my mother is the last thing I am doing.”_

Bilbo grinned, adding the tea leaves to the boiling water. A sense of calm washed over him, and he urged to tell Prim about what happened the other day. That would worry her unnecessarily though.

“ _So what’s up with you?”_

Bilbo looke dup, his heart beating fast, “Um, nothing much. The same old life, you know.”

Primula hummed, “ _ Met anyone who caught your eyes?” _

‘ _The Man with blue eyes_ ’, his mind supplied. Bilbo frowned. No, not really.

“No,” said bilbo, draining his tea into the cup, “However, there is something I wanted to talk to you about?”

“ _yeah_?”

“I...” Bilbo inhaled, not sure how to put it in the most non-threatening way, “I have decided to start therapy.”

When he looked back at the screen, Primula was frowning, “ _ Is everything all right, Bub?” _

‘ _No, I almost jumped off a building yesterday,’_ was too dramatic, so Bilbo just smiled, “Yeah, just fine. There’s just, well, things have been weird, and I think it will be good for me to, you know, work some stuff out.”

“ _O-okay,”_ Primula said slowly, “ _If there’s something, you do know that you can talk to me, right?”_

Bilbo smiled, “Of course, Prim. I know that. That’s why m telling you. Don’t wanna tell Mum or Dad.”

Primula chuckled, “ _ Yeah, they would make a mountain of a molehill. All right then, keep me updated, will you?” _

“Duh,” Bilbo said, sipping his tea, “So, how’s work?”

Bilbo let himself lose in the chatter. He talked to Frodo a bit, who excitedly told him about a new book he had started reading. When the call finally came to an end, Bilbo felt just a tad bit lighter. He felt like he could go on the hour, if not the whole day.

* * *

With a sense of calmness, Bilbo picked his gardening tools and walked out front, where a small garden was overflowing with weeds. He had no classes and thus could spend as long as he wanted to in the garden. Which was eventually going to be no more than half an hour, but Bilbo ignored that. If he was to spend the rest of the day lying on the couch, might as well get some part of his life in order.

His mind wandered as he picked the weeds out. They were so less, but Bilbo could imagine them overtaking the whole garden at a point. When if you pulled one out there would be ten other waiting for you. Eventually, it would get so messy that the garden would be just weed, no flowers, no plants and no grass.

That’s how his mind felt sometimes. Overflowing with not what its purpose was but with something which just continued to grow stubbornly. Problem was, when he tried to pick them out all he was met with was darkness and absolute emptiness.

Bilbo sighed  and wiped the sweat off his forehead . He tried to rack his brain for something, but instead, all he could hear was the swoosh swoosh of his hands and for some reason,  _ Bohemian Rhapsody _ playing in the background. It was so far away as if someone was playing it inside the house and Bilbo could only hear bits of it. Yet, he knew every single word. 

Everything was so bloody distant for him. Nothing close by, everything locked in some other room or some other place. Might as well do nothing  properly, but no. His mind would never let that happen. 

The sound on a car engine and a loud honk pulled Bilbo out of his dark night. He blinked, looking up. It was far too close to be a figment of imagination or someone in his neighbourhood.

Frowning, Bilbo stood up. A grey sedan pulled up in his driveway. It did not belong to any of his family members unless they bought a new car and did not tell him. Or they texted or called to tell him and he had not checked his messages. Another possibility.

The sun was overhead, and Bilbo had to squint to make out the details. Yet, it wasn’t until the door opened that he realized it wasn’t his family.

It was the man with blue eyes.

Bilbo staggered a bit. He hadn’t expected him to come to his home, why would he? There was no possible explanation for that. At all.

Now that he looked at him, Bilbo could see that the man was tall. Very tall. Almost close to six feet, while Bilbo remained on the lower side of five. He was once again dressed in a suit, and his hair was flowing openly. He had a beard and moustache, and if Prim saw him she would probably be interested in devouring him.

The man looked up, a small smile on his face as he spotted Bilbo. Bilbo continued to frown.

“Hello,” he said in a deep voice, “My name is Thorin. We met-”

“Yes, I remember,” Bilbo cut in hurriedly, crossing his arms, “What are you doing here?”

The man did not deter at Bilbo’s rude tone, “Just wanted to check up on you.”

A sigh escaped him. Of course.

“I am fine,” Bilbo said with as much assurance as he could muster, “It was a...fluke, that day.”

The man continued to look at him softly, an understanding in his gaze.

“Am alive,” Bilbo continued, feeling more awkward by the passing minute, “You can go now.”

He shuffled on his feet, wanting to do anything but that. He ran a hand over his hair, thinking deeply.

Bilbo pressed his nails into his palm. It hurt slightly- not strong enough to draw out blood but that was probably for the best. He did not want to answer unnecessary questions. The man’s presence was making him anxious, and if he did not leave soon Bilbo was not sure what he would do.

“Look,” The man, thorin, finally said, “I don’t know anything about. you”

“yes,” Bilbo nodded, his breath coming up short.

“And I don’t mean to cross my boundaries,” he said with honesty, “But you did not seem okay last night and I couldn’t help noticing that you live alone. I, well, it’s just not a good idea to be, well, alone.”

Bilbo’s heart was beating fast. He shuddered, looking anywhere but at him, “Are you a, what, leading researcher about suicidal people?”

“No, but I almost lost my brother and I don’t want anyone else to go through that.”

Whatever Bilbo was expecting, it was not that. He quickly shut his eyes, trying to calm his nerves.

He had heard stories, of survivors left behind. Parents who lost their teenage children, spouses who had to take care of a family, siblings who could never quite do anything well again, and children with trauma irreparable. He knew all of that. There was a time when he read extensively about all of that. He knew that it was harder on those left behind.

But the ones left behind never really knew the pain the person was going through. Taking their own lives was not a joke, nor a hurried decision. It was pondered about, on nights when the bed felt too big, on busy streets where one stood alone.

“Look,” Bilbo said, his voice scratchy, “I appreciate it. You checking up on me, and looking up and everything. But you don’t know me. You don’t know my problems, and while I am very glad you saved my life yesterday, you are not responsible for anything, okay? I am glad your brother worked things out, but not everyone has that. So thank you, for, for your concern, but please.”

When Bilbo finally dared to look up, the man’s head was bowed. He was nodding as if agreeing with what Bilbo was saying. He slowly began to retreat, and Bilbo felt some air rush back into his lungs.

Just as he was about to walk away, however, the man stopped. Bilbo watched din confusion as he walked back in and pulled a card out of his pockets. He all but shove dit in Bilbo’s directions, and he couldn’t help but be confused.

“Here’s my number,” he said, pointing at the bottom of the card, “I know it’s not much, but if you ever feel like, I don’t know, talking or venting, or just sharing things with an absolute stranger, feel free to call. Or message, whatever suits you. I tend to reply quickly.”

Bilbo blinked owlishly as the man put the card in his hand without them touching even for a second. A small part of his brain appreciated the gesture. By the time he looked up, the car was gone.

He looked down at the card, confused. It said _Thorin Oakenshield, CFO,_ which Bilbo knew was a high position. He had never heard of _Erebor Industries_ , but it was surely an important place of some sort.

The mobile number at the bottom, with an email id, was the most baffling thing Bilbo had ever come across. At the moment, his head was filled with excitement and anxiety both, fear and exhilaration bordering the moment. Bilbo had no idea what to do. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of long chapter. I want to say once again that this is an exploration of my own thoughts, and thus can take any turn. That being said, thank you for your lovely reviews and interest in this story so far. I hope you are all keeping well, and a reminder to drink water. 
> 
> Also, you will be okay. :)
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: Suicidal thoughts. And more thoughts. Eh. I can't do a warning but yeah. serious stuff.

Hunger was an issue that Bilbo was not ready to actually think about. He had loved food- making it, eating it, just watching someone cook or bake. Some of his best memories were him shuffling around in his Aunt Lobelia’s kitchen. Though she and Bilbo never quite liked each other and more often than not were found exchanging clever barbs despite their age difference, the kitchen was one place where they came to a truce. Bilbo had learnt the secrets of baking a pie by her side, how letting the dough rest would make it better. He knew which cakes were good for normal days and which were good for a special occasion. She had introduced him to the world of cuisine, talking about food from all over the world. That was one thing he would never forget.

Bilbo’s stomach growled at the memories. He sighed, patting his stomach. His kitchen and pantry were virtually empty, and he did not have the patience to actually cook something. Going out to eat would mean either small conversation or curious looks. He did not any friends to call over or crash their place for dinner. In the end, he decided to order in.

The decision was not terribly hard. He needed something which fed him, not something that was healthy. Pizza was a recently acquired taste for him, and something which was delivered in his neighbourhood. He ordered three large pizzas- they would last him a few days. Somehow, the woman on the other side was telling him about the offers and Bilbo found himself ordering dips, pasta, a few drinks and some desserts.

The dessert made him a little happy.

He was less rich by the time he placed the order, but it would give him some days of peace. As long as he did not forget about it and left it to rot, it was a good investment.

Bilbo looked up at the clock, mentally calculating how long it would take for the food to come. The spokes of the clock ticked away, seemingly mocking him. His stomach growled in impatience, but Bilbo ignored it in favour of looking at the slowly ticking clock. Forty five minutes at the least.

Letting out a deep sigh, Bilbo looked around. Ever since that man- Thorin- had come to his home, Bilbo had been hyper-aware of time. He could not even sit back and let the time pass.

It was wrong, really. When he needed time to go slow it would speed up, and when he needed to pass the time each second felt like a hundred years. It was a curse of his existence.

Against his better judgement, Bilbo decided to play a movie. His laptop was in his room, and he did not really like to watch things on that stupid small screen. With a sigh, Bilbo connected his laptop to the TV he had, and which he never used.

He glanced through the selections. They were either terribly sad or unbelievably happy. He would watch the sad ones, except he did not want to greet whoever came to deliver his food with tears in his eyes. Nor did he want to greet them with a scowl, shall he watch those ‘rom-coms’.

In the end, he was left with some love story which promised a sad ending. Hopefully, he would be able to lose himself in the chatter.

The truth about Bilbo Baggins, however, was that he couldn’t just let something play in the background and ignore it. When he had nothing else to concentrate on, it was inevitable that his mind would fix on the video. Even as the minutes passed, the logical part of Bilbo’s brain was telling him to shut it off. That he would be too emotionally invested in the story and then when it would end, he would be obsessing over it for ages.

His life was made up of contradictions like that. When he actually needed to focus on something, thoughts from all his life would come to bother him or leave him completely alone. When he needed to be alone, everything would suddenly be by his side.

The person on the screen started talking about death. Bilbo found his eyes darting to the screen even against his own wishes. It was a movie, of course, and the words that came out of the actor’s mouth were poetic and heartfelt. The man talked about death as if it was a beautiful inevitable, something that made life more cherished. Something that gave time meaning. Death came at its own pace, and each had their own ending. It was fascinating, Death was. A mystery, for the other side remained hidden from the eyes of mere mortals.

As his love interest watched in sadness, Bilbo scoffed. If he started talking about death like that, everybody would look at him funny.

That was it, wasn’t it? That’s why he had stopped reading. After he had completed his studies, every time he opened a fictional book it was inevitable that his mind reminded him that it was a complete lie. That things like that didn’t happen. If he opened non-fiction, he was just reminded of how shitty the world was. The happy place, the escape was ruined for him, and what was left behind was an impossibly broken place.

The bell rang, and Bilbo jumped on his couch. He looked up and was surprised to find that indeed, more than thirty minutes had passed.

Pausing the movie on the screen, which had moved on and Bilbo was no idea what was going on anymore, Bilbo walked over to the door. He tried to settle down his hair, and straighten his jacket. He thumped his chest, trying to calm his erratic heart. It was just a delivery person, nothing more. They would not judge his tousled hair or a rather sorry jacket that Bilbo was currently wearing.

But they could. And it was possible that they very well would. They would look at Bilbo and think, oh, what a poor man. Perhaps they would send him pitiful glances or maybe chuckle softly at him. Maybe they would go back and tell the fellow delivery people that a rather sad man ordered today. It would be mere gossip for them all, nothing more.

The bell rang again, and Bilbo took in a shuddering breath. His stomach growled. It was time.

Gathering all of his courage, Bilbo unlocked the door. He was met by three boxes being pushed into his hands. Bilbo staggered, barely able to handle the three boxes in hand.

“Oh I am so sorry!” came the voice of the delivery boy, “Sorry, Let me just, um, pull out your other orders. Give me a moment!”

And just like that, the boy was gone. Bilbo blinked, standing there absolutely confused. It was when the top box almost began to slide off that Bilbo walked over to the nearest table and dumped the three pizza boxes.

Seriously, what was he thinking? This was not going to end well for him. At all.

When he went back to the door, the delivery boy was holding a few more boxes with his pasta, dips and desserts. Bilbo accepted them gladly and ignored the curious look that the boy gave around the house.

He was probably wondering where others were. He could not eat all of that single-handedly, not socially acceptable.

If Bilbo was a different man he would pay attention.

The boy smiled, walking on and on about leaving a good review behind and something about helping. Bilbo smiled politely, wishing the man would just go away. Why was he still standing?

By the time Bilbo closed the door, his heart was ready to give up. He was ready to give up.

* * *

The next day Bilbo’s life fell back into the same routine. Getting up, taking a cold shower, eating the remnants of his dinner which would indeed feed him for three days easily. The classes were boring, usual and he walked on with his life.

Bilbo found himself back on the same street he had been a few days ago. To imagine the street could have been his graveyard...Bilbo shuddered. It was a possibility, something that could have been a reality. People would have crowded against him. It would have taken someone ages to find his identity, or maybe not.

Shaking his head, Bilbo decided to bring himself back into the real world. He actually paid attention to the building that he had decided to be his final destination. To his surprise, or maybe not, the building was called 'Erebor Industries'. 

Fishing out his phone, Bilbo googled the place. The Internet provided him with a nice profile of a mining and manufacturing company. There was a jeweller's outlet of the same, and according to the map, it was barely a few minutes walk away.

Bilbo was not really the adventurous type, but his parents’ anniversary was coming up. He needed to buy them a gift, and some jewellery would be a good idea. Maybe cufflinks, or rings? A set for his mother?

With that thought, Bilbo let the mobile phone guide him to the jewellery shop. It was like any other shop on the street, bright letter proclaiming it to be 'EREBOR JEWELERS'. The reviews online were good. Something about 'ambience' and 'quality' and 'excellent service'. It was going to be expensive, but Bilbo could just...browse. Maybe get an idea.

He knew he would not be able to do exactly that. If it got too much, he would turn away and never show his face to anyone else ever again in the shop or to anyone close by.

The ambience of the shop was exactly as Bilbo had imagined it. A guard opened the door for him, greeting him with a polite smile and a nod. The shelves were lined up with diamond sets, with some ruby, pearls and emeralds scattered around. Some rings were on the display, and Bilbo found himself looking over. He smiled politely at the people standing behind the counter.

Eventually, Bilbo found himself sitting at the end of the counter. There was a small golden ring, very simple and plain. There were etchings on it that weren’t in any of the languages Bilbo knew. It was very facinating, away from all different rings.

“The One Ring.”

Bilbo jumped, his heart beating erratically. When he looked back, a blond man was looking at him with a bashful smile. His eyes were light blue, like that man- Thorin- and his hair and beard were long and braided.

Patting his chest, Bilbo tried to calm himself down. This is why he did not venture out.

“It is a very precious piece of jewellery,” the man went on to speak as if talking to Bilbo, “Some say a curse lies upon it or did on its original. This a replica, an exact made by yours truly.”

“You made this?” Bilbo found himself asking, shocked.

The man smiled, “Frerin Oakenshield, the owner of this venture. Yes, I made this. It is not for sale, unfortunately. Just here to appeal to my vanity.”

Oakenshield. The beautiful man’s brother. The one who tried to-?

Bilbo scolded himself. It could just be anyone else. He could have more than one brothers. Or it could have been a lie after all.

And whatever the case was, it was none of his business.

“Bilbo Baggins,” he introduced himself, shaking the given hand. It was probably sweaty and weird, but the man made no big deal. He did not scrunch up his nose or wiped his hands away, merely pushing it back and looking at Bilbo with a smile.

“How may I help you?”

“Ah, well,” Bilbo looked around. The price range was not really out of his range, but he wasn’t sure about the plan, “My parents’ anniversary is coming up and I was hoping to gift them something?”

Frerin’s smile brightened, “How long have they been together?”

“Hmm?” Bilbo frowned, “It would be their, fortieth? Oh no, forty-fifth. Or somewhere in that range. They would be celebrating fifty soon, that's all I know.”

Bilbo laughed nervously, but the man remained the same. There was no judgement on his face, merely a polite smile. He wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or not.

“Did you have anything certain in mind?” he asked politely.

Bilbo shook his head, “I was thinking a set for my mother, but my father...”

“May I offer a pair of rings?” he said, gesturing one of the people in the shop to get working, “Something like an eternity, binding them forever.”

“Sure,” shrugged Bilbo. His mother would probably laugh at the idea of eternity, and his father would puff, but maybe it would work out.

“We also have wrist-watches, if you would be interested in that,” said Frerin, as if sensing Bilbo's lack of interest in the idea.

Bilbo frowned. The cogs in his read, rusted from days of doing nothing creaked as they moved.

“Would you happen to have a pocket watch?”

The question surprised Frerin, but there was unriddled glee on his face as he nodded, “We do have a small selection, and it is not just a simple watch either. Allow me to show you.”

* * *

In the end, Bilbo bought a pair of pocket watches that were linked. There was a vine that stretched from one to another, with lilies opening up at small junctures. Though his father’s botanist voice was nagging him about the vine with a lily, he knew that his parents would like it. It was exotic enough to satisfy her mother’s adventurous thirst and simple yet elegant like the things his father liked to collect.

When Bilbo got back home, he was in a relatively better mood. He put away the watched inside the small safe in his bedroom, the one which also held the first wristwatch that was given to him by his grandmother, his parents’ wedding rings that they had left behind for some reason yet unknown to Bilbo, and a pair of cufflinks.

Nodding to himself, Bilbo locked the safe and hid the key in the middle of his books. He reheated the pizza and sat down on the couch with his food.

The inevitable would be that his mind drifts away as soon as it was left empty. The downside of being a planner was that Bilbo had planned out his whole semester at the beginning of the year and thus he had little to nothing to do. The Assignments were a long way, and he was not sadist enough to torture his students with surprise quizzes or assignments.

Any form of relaxation would lead him to lose his train of thought and thus, end up in the same old routine.

Perhaps it was his mother’s genes acting up, or maybe the mere giving up on any sort of pretence. Bilbo fished out the card he had been handed and pulled up his phone.

_8:39 p.m.  
From: Bilbo_

_Hello. This is Bilbo. You said to call if something happens._

Before his mind could delve deep into his word choice, the phone pinged. With a fast-beating heart, Bilbo read the reply.

_**8:39 p.m.  
From: Thorin Oakenshield** _

_**Hi.  
Yes I remember.  
Is everything okay?** _

_8:40 p.m.  
From: Bilbo_

_Yes  
I am sorry for choosing your Company to jump.  
You would have incurred terrible loss._

_**8:40 p.m.  
From: Thorin Oakenshield** _

_**That’s all right. I am sure my Company could survive a few lawsuits and reporters :)  
A life is more important that any Company** _

A surprised laugh escaped from Bilbo’s mouth. For some reason, he found the first sentence quite funny. It was not even that funny. Maybe amusing. A bit amusing.

_8:41 p.m.  
From: Bilbo_

_Rich are we?_

_**8:41 p.m.  
From: Thorin Oakenshield** _

_**We are comfortable** _

_8:41 p.m.  
From: Bilbo_

_Thats exactly what a rich person would say_

_**8:41 p.m.  
From: Thorin Oakenshield** _

_**Perhaps  
But its more of old money. Thanks to my great-grandfather. ** _

_8:42 p.m.  
From: Bilbo_

_Tell me more._

Bilbo had absolutely no idea what he was doing. But as he lay there, eating a heated pizza and a bottle of coke, with his head lying on his arm and chatting to an absolute stranger about his family history, something akin to calmness spread over him. A distraction, a new venture or just plain old excitement, he did not know. At the moment, he did not necessarily need to either.   
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings still apply.  
> This is more...plotty than emotional. I was surprised too. So, have fun.  
> This is not Frerin/Bilbo, as much as I like the pairing and find it fun. I have plans for them. Hope you like it.  
> Real-life still sucks, and therapy is helping. In a sort fo way. But overall everything sucks.   
> Okay bye.

Things often tended to give him some sort of momentary happiness before crashing the world around him. That was why he liked to stay sad. It was not what anybody would recommend, but well.

Bilbo found himself sitting on a brown couch, wiggling his left leg as he saw people walk in and out. The receptionist was always smiling, and though it was not fake, it was quite unnerving. There were huge plants around, and a few quotes on the board across him that essentially said ‘You can do it’ and ‘it’s okay to ask for help.’

“Mr Baggins?”

Bilbo looked up, raising his hand shyly. The nurse who had peaked out of the door smiled and walked over where he sat. Bilbo stood up, aware of how rude it would look if he kept sitting. The nurse kept smiling and led Bilbo to one of the rooms.

“My name is Lindir,” he said softly, “I will be sitting right outside. If there’s anything, let me know. Dr Elrond will be here in a few moments.”

Nodding numbly, Bilbo sat down on the grey armchair.

The clock ticked away on the opposite wall, and with each passing second Bilbo dreaded what was to come. He did not know why he was so afraid of therapy- he had always been. It was not as if the mood in his family was very anti-therapy. In fact, they were the kind of people who would always tell people to get help.

“Ah, hello Mr Baggins.”

Bilbo jumped, so lost in the world of his head he did not realize when the doctor came in. Smiling swiftly, he stood up and extended his hand in greeting, “Dr Elrond.”

Elrond was the kind of man who looked ethereal. He had long hair, but it looked more the regal sort than a shabby one. He had a smile on his face- the one that his grandmother often hand.

Shaking his head, Elrond settled down in front of him while Bilbo sat down. He consciously stopped shaking his foot and curled his fingers into his fist lest he starts nibbling at his fingernails again.

“How are we feeling today?” Elrond asked calmly.

“Umm, good? Calm?”

“That’s good,” Elrond said with a nod, “Have you seen anyone before?”

Bilbo shook his head. He had seen his school counsellors years ago once, but that could hardly be termed a ‘seeing’ someone.

“All right. So, what brings you to my office today?”

Bilbo opened his mouth but found he was unable to speak. He felt absolutely tired all of a sudden, and the actual reality came crashing around him.

“I have been feeling a bit low lately,” said Bilbo, not exactly lying, “And, um, time passes. I don’t know-how. Thought, perhaps it’s time I seek help, you know.”

Elrond nodded. There was no judgement on his face, but an understanding. It made Bilbo feel...weird. He was not sure how he was supposed to work with that, “Of course. Why don’t you tell me something about yourself?”

That, Bilbo, could do.

“Well, I am Bilbo Baggins. Professor of Literature. Currently, thirty-one will be turning thirty-two in September. I live alone. I have my parents, a mother and a father, my elder sister who is married with a lovely kid...”

* * *

By the time Bilbo was done, he was exhausted. As soon as he reached home, there was a message on his phone.

_**From: Thorin Oakenshield** _

_**How did it go?** _

Bilbo had no idea why he had told Thorin Oakensield of all people when his session was, but over the course of conversation it had just...come out. And now he was asking about it. It was...foreign? Different? Weird?

He might be a literature professor but he was running out of words.

_From: Bilbo_

_Eh, it was good._

_**From Thorin Oakenshield** _

_**good or good good?** _

_From: Bilbo_

_Good._

_**From: Thorin Oakenshield** _

_**Ah.  
Would you like to hear something funny?** _

_From: Bilbo_

_I guess?_

_**From: Thorin Oakenshield** _

_**My nephew opened a pack of flour and dragged it all over the house.  
We are currently sitting on a flour ridden couch** _

_From: Bilbo_

_Oh my God  
Why_

_**From: Thorin Oakenshield** _

_**I think he was trying to help  
Groceries were yet to be unpacked  
But then he tried to open it and the scissors were missing so he dragged the whole bag around and did not notice** _

_From: Bilbo_

_Poor boy_

_**From: Thorin Oakenshield** _

_**He is 18** _

_From: Bilbo_

_Wow_

* * *

And so passed his days. Elrond was great. He really was. There was some sort of an understanding in the way he spoke and his gaze looked far older than he probably was. The first few times were awkward, to say the least, but soon enough it became a part of Bilbo’s routines.

Speaking of routines, chatting with Thorin soon became a daily event. It was about the most random of things- Bilbo’s students, Thorin’s nephews, their shared love for tea and sometimes about the movies they saw. Neither ever talked about their families, and Bilbo liked it that way. There was a sense of mystery about them.

Soon enough, Bilbo started looking forward to the weird ping from Thorin. It was a very timely thing- Thorin was the punctual sort. He was also naturally rude, and it took Bilbo two or three days to realize that. While he was trying to improve- at least it seemed so- Thorin continued to slip and say something absolutely insulting, either about his height or his job.

It might have sent him into a mini attack, but he was able to overcome it. Later, when he told Thorin, in not so direct ways that those were sensitive subjects, he moved on.

So after Bilbo’s third session, when Elrond suggested Bilbo take a walk after their sessions, Bilbo found himself back outside Thorin’s company.

He used to hitch a ride earlier and never walked, but recently he had begun to prefer walking. Especially on a crowded road. He did not know what it was about the place. Perhaps the sense of loneliness magnifying so very much. Knowing that none of them would care.

Bilbo fished out his phone, opening the chat. His hand hovered over the button, reading Thorin’s last messages. He was due to have a meeting, and it would be entirely selfish of Bilbo to ask to meet. Thorin didn’t owe him anything.

It was honestly weird. Bilbo had no idea what they were. Were they friends? Were they comrades? Were they strangers just chatting? It was a weird situation that Bilbo found himself at a complete loss.

It certainly did not help that his mind continued to remind him how exactly the two men had met. There was guilt every single time they texted. He was able to push that back as he caught up on the conversation, but the feeling was never truly gone.

Somehow, wandering around brought him to a cosy cafe at the corner of the street. It was a small place, with a bookshelf and a mismatched set of tables. It wasn’t the sort where the owners had carefully planned it- it was literally a mismatch of tables. A bright blue couch beside an orange armchair. A high coffee table with two very different chairs.

For some reason, Bilbo felt like smiling. Bilbo checked the name of the place- Blue Mountains. That was a good name.

He walked in, the smell of coffee beans hitting his nose. Bilbo might be a tea person, but there was no denying he could always appreciate a good cup of coffee. Striding over to the counter with newfound confidence, Bilbo stood in the line behind an old lady and a tall man.

There was something familiar about the man, but Bilbo could not put his finger on it. Not until he turned.

“Oh hello, Mr Baggins.”

Bilbo blinked, smiling, “Mr Oakenshield.”

It was the jeweller, Thorin supposed brother. Chuckling softly, Bilbo rocked on his heels, “Oh, you, um, you here?”

Frerin smiled, shrugging, “The coffee shop is just beside my workplace. This a constant solace. New here?”

Bilbo nodded, “Ah, yes. Just, thought of exploring.”

“Great idea,” Frerin said excitedly, “May I suggest their cappuccino? And the mango mousse. If you have the taste for it it will be the best thing you have ever tasted.”

The man’s excitement was infectious. Bilbo chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, “Thank you very much. I will just, do that.”

That was the end of their conversation as the old lady walked away. Frerin greeted the man in front of the counter with familiarity. The said man was tall and had the weirdest hat Bilbo had ever seen. The nameplate on his chest read “Bofur”. The two joked as Frerin gave his order and walked away.

When Bilbo’s turn came, he greeted the man with a smile. More than once, he stumbled upon his words, but Bofur did not even bat an eyelash. Once he had given an order, Bilbo stole away. He was feeling embarrassed. He couldn’t face another human being. Not for a long long time.

Settling down on one of the smaller tables, Bilbo fished out a book he was supposed to discuss in the next class. Not that he didn’t already know the book from cover to cover, but reading it at the moment provided some sort of a half-hearted distraction. Even if he could not pick a book up for leisure, his college syllabus could sometimes help. Especially after his session with Elrond- He needed a break.

Perhaps he should not have come to this new place.

“Alone?”

Bilbo jumped. Looking up he found Frerin setting down his order at the table in front of him. Goodness had it truly been that long.

“Reading a book,” he said.

Frerin read the cover, taking a seat in front of him, “ _Emma._ Quite a nice choice.”

“This is for my class.”

Frerin raised an eyebrow, “You are a student?”

“Teacher, actually,” Bilbo found himself saying, “We are focusing on different female characters and the world around them.”

Frerin hummed, “Sounds fascinating.”

Bilbo chuckled awkwardly, “Well, I try to. Make it fascinating, that is.”

To that, Frerin just smiled, “Would it be terribly imposing if I were to join you?”

Bilbo blinked. It had been a long time since someone had willingly joined him, “Oh, um, not at all. I am afraid I am not a very pleasant company though.”

“It’s all right,” Frerin said, revealing a book that Bilbo had missed earlier, “Existing in silence has its own benefits. Nevertheless, I have my own book to read.”

“ _The_ _Catcher in th_ _e_ _Rye,”_ Bilbo read aloud, “Well, certainly an interesting choice.”

Frerin grinned and settled down comfortably. Bilbo looked at Frerin, getting engrossed in the book in front of him. So engrossed even that he did not notice when the sleeves of his shirt slipped just slightly, leaving the marks for the world to see.

Gulping, Bilbo turned to his book. It was no business of his. He knew certain things about this man which he should not have been privy to, and Bilbo was not insensitive enough to gawk like a fool. Everyone had their own demons to face, and he was no one to judge.

The company did end up being rather pleasant. Bilbo let out an appreciative hum when he tasted his coffee, and Frerin smiled and offered more of the things from the menu that Bilbo could try. He pulled up his sleeves every time, but soon enough it would fall. Bilbo did not stare, and he did not point.

Outside, the world turned darker. Before he knew it evening had fallen and Bilbo had read more than he had done in a whole month. That was when the door opened and a familiar voice carried over to their table.

“Frerin, are you-”

Bilbo gulped. He put down his book as Frerin looked up and Thorin came around. When Thorin came to a stop in front of their table, Bilbo waved shyly.

“Mr Bilbo,” Thorin said, surprise evident on his face.

“Mr Thorin,” Bilbo gave a thin smile, “Hello.”

Frerin raised en eyebrow, looking at the two, “You know each other.”

It wasn’t much fo a question but neither a statement. Bilbo gulped again. He wondered what to say, but Thorin beat him to it.

“We’ve met,” he said shortly, “How do you know each other?”

“We just happened to bump into each other,” Frerin said honestly, though there was curiosity in his voice, “Is it time already?”

“Hmm?” Thorin tore his gaze away from Bilbo, realising what Frerin had asked, “Yes. We should be going home.”

Frerin sighed and closed his book, “So long, Mr Baggins.”

“Call me Bilbo,” he said with a soft smile. He looked from one brother to the other. They were both huge, and pretty similar looking if one knew where to look. But where Frerin was easy going in the short time Bilbo had known him, Thorin was stiff. He was definitely trying to be welcoming but seemed to be rather awkward.

Frerin grinned, placing the book on the table, “Yes. I have already bared my true soul to you with my reading habits. Hope you return the favour.”

Bilbo shook his head fondly. This was surprising for even him, “Frerin, then.”

With that, he was gone. Thorin lingered back, for just a moment, before smiling and walking out. Just as we were to turn, Bilbo said, “How is your nephew?”

That stopped thorin. He turned, frowning, “Still as mischievous as ever. Yours?”

Bilbo shrugged, “Haven’t talked to him yet.”

Thorin nodded, “Well then, I will...see you later. Or hear from you. Later. Or write myself.”

Judging by how red he was getting and Frerin’s mischievous grin outside the shop, Bilbo knew Thorin felt as awkward as him. He watched them go and put his book back inside his satchel.

As Bilbo walked out, he looked back at the coffee shop. Blue Mountains. Yes, it was a place he could come back to.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING for this chapter. Bilbo has a panic attack, and my descriptions are pretty much based on personal experience. That being said, it could be technically wrong and may have some stuff hither and either. It is a bit triggering, so be warned. 
> 
> Take care you all. Drink water.

Bilbo should have known. In retrospect, things had been going well. Far too well, if he was being honest. He was able to get up and go to University every single day, sharing coffee and books with Frerin and later Thorin, making minimal small talk unless one of them found something interesting to share. The people behind the counter at the Blue Mountains had started to recognize him and his orders, especially Bofur. The sessions with Elrond were going on well, with them talking of his symptoms and his reactions and how they could potentially tackle them in the future. Bilbo was sure he would be able to manage it when the time came.

However, that was certainly not what happened.

It was a beautiful morning. The sun was not glaring down and a gentle breeze was flowing around the house. Bilbo woke up, tired but certainly refreshed. His head was not aching, and he actually found himself fixing a toast and some eggs for breakfast.

That should have been the first sign.

As he was munching on his breakfast, his phone pinged. Bilbo picked it up to see a new message from Thorin.

_**From: Thorin Oakenshield** _

_**My nephews decided I needed a vacation.  
Because I do not leave my office, they decided to bring it to my office.** _

_From: Bilbo_

_Oh dear  
What did they do?_

_**From: Thorin Oakenshield** _

_**There is sand in my office.  
And seashells.   
Swim trunks and an umbrella.  
I can't believe Frerin was not involved in this.  
If I am pressed with charges of murder let them know I had a motive. ** _

Thorin’s nephews sounded like terrors in their own right. Knowing Frerin, Bilbo was sure that the man was somewhat involved in the whole thing. He giggled and sent a reply to calm the man down.

That should have been his second sign.

As he was washing his plate, a notification popped up on his phone. They were rather irritating and he kept his phone on silent. But his phone was facing up so the screen still lit up. Clicking his tongue, Bilbo picked up the phone to see the message.

It was an ad, but it still caught his attention. A small fair kind of thing, happening nearby. Promises of fresh vegetables and fruits and baked goods, along with other things.

Bilbo closed his eyes. He could picture it. Smallish tents with bright colours and friendly vendors. Food trucks with a long queue of college students and middle-aged couples. Children running around on the grass.

As much as he hated going out, there was a longing in his heart. He missed these kinds of fairs that were abundant in Hobbiton. He remembered running around in one of those, laughing and playing with others.

While his anxiety would surely skyrocket, that was fine. He had already been to the Blue Mountains. That adventure was good. In fact, it was slowly becoming a part of his routine now. Bilbo was a tad bit proud to declare that he had actual friends now who were not friends with him for what he could give them or because they felt pity for him.

Well, maybe Thorin and he had started out that way but by each day it was turning into something more. A familiarity. What exactly, Bilbo did not know.

Taking in a deep breath, Bilbo weighed the pros and cons. It had been ages since had gone somewhere exciting. Maybe he could send pictures to Frodo and tease him about things the boy was missing on. Yes, there would be crowds and what not but if it got too much Bilbo had Dr Elrond on speed dial. He remembered the breathing exercises. He would be fine.

He would be fine.

* * *

The visit had started out great. Bilbo had donned on a brown tweed jacket, some trousers and a wicker basket in his hands. The fair was he had imagined, only smaller. There were fruit vendors to one side, fresh vegetables following close by. The food trucks were situated at every corner, and as expected children were running around. There were two or three fair games around too. He saw a young boy desperately trying to buy his beloved a teddy bear.

Bilbo started with bread. The smell hit him first, and his legs automatically turned to the source. As close as he got, he could smell how fresh they were as if taken out recently. Bilbo gasped when saw the collection- it was extremely small, but no doubt impressive.

“Hullo!” the man behind the counter greeted with a wide grin, “How may I help you, good sir?”

Bilbo smiled. His heart hammered like a running horse, at being addressed suddenly. He pretended to examine the loaves of bread, well aware of how rude he looked but no matter how much he tried, no word would come out. The vendor was kind and merely smiled as Bilbo kept snooping.

He finally stood up, stopping at the collection of fruit bread, “They, um, they look amazing.”

It was a foolish thing to say, probably, but the man’s face broke up into a grin, “It’s a family recipe. Would you like me to pack you some?”

Somehow, Bilbo managed to nod. Checking the tag at the bottom, Bilbo managed to fish out a few crisp bills and handed them over. When the man nodded gratefully, Bilbo nodded too.

Before the man could try any more small talk, Bilbo walked over to the next tent. These were of candies. He picked up some he recognized from his childhood, thinking about packing some of them for Frodo. Bilbo somehow managed to purchase a handful of candies and chocolates before moving on to the pies.

Pies, well, pies were Bilbo’s favourite. There was something soothing in preparing those, especially his favourite apple pie. They had many of those and were clearly in demand. Bilbo, stuttering and spluttering somehow managed to purchase a piece. Though he had only seen so much, his body was feeling tired.

Gratefully taking the container, Bilbo hung his basket from the elbow as he had once been taught. He slowly picked up the plastic spoon and dug into the baked layers. As the ingredients melted into his mouth, Bilbo had to stop himself from moaning. He could taste the apples- Cortland if he was not wrong. It was not extremely sweet but good enough. The nutmeg and vanilla were balanced out well. However, there was a distinct lack of cinnamon. As Bilbo took the next bite, he could taste the hint of it. Probably not well mixed.

“These idiots do know that the spices need to be mixed and not sprinkled?”

Every inch of his body, every single cell froze. His heart took up the speed, perhaps faster than what was even considered normal. His brain stopped, coming to an instant halt. No matter what he did, Bilbo was frozen. It was just his eyes that moved.

An old woman stood close by, leaning over the cart and talking to herself. Her previous comment was probably not made to be heard by anyone, but Bilbo recognized the voice. She was dressed in far too bright colours- yellow and pink.

Gulping, Bilbo’s mouth opened against his own accord.

“Aunt Lobelia?”

The old woman shot up, shocked at being addressed. Her judging eyes landed on Bilbo, narrowed as she inspected him. However, it took her less than a moment to realize who stood in front of her.

“Well bless my soul,” she muttered, standing up and adjusting her glasses, “Bilbo Baggins.”

Bilbo stood frozen, not sure how to react. A fact that Lobelia seemed to be catching up on.

“Is this how you greet your Aunt?” she asked in a shrill voice that could give him headaches. Bilbo immediately dropped his half-eaten pie in the market and moved to greet her. He dropped a kiss on her cheek, which seemed to somewhat satisfy the old woman.

As Bilbo pushed back, he stood awkwardly. Aunt lobelia let her eyes rake over him as if judging his entire existence. Which she probably was.

“Would you stop playing with the sleeve?” she demanded.

“Sorry, Aunt Lobelia,” Bilbo hurriedly said, his hand coming to a standstill, “I, um, I did not, not know, you, that, you were here.”

She huffed, adjusting her glasses and glaring, “Still haven’t gotten over the stutter, boy?”

“I, do not, not anymore, no-”

“Oh quiet down, would you?” Lobelia snapped, immediately shutting him up, “I thought you were a Professor.”

“I am,” he said softly.

“And that’s how you teach your students?”

He knew what to do. Breathe. 1-2-3-4, 1-2-3-4, in and out. In and out.

“I manage,” he muttered, not meeting Aunt Lobelia’s eyes.

She huffed, crossing her arm. She did not say anything. It took Bilbo a few minutes to understand she was waiting for him to speak.

“How are you doing?” he managed to say in one breath.

“Oh very well,” she said with a proud grin, and then broke out into a detailed account of how each of her plants was doing. It was a matter of pride for all Baggins, no matter how distantly related.

Bilbo followed her as she moved from one stall to another, judging their production. Just like that, he was back again to being a ten-year-old, following Aunt Lobelia as she picked up the best of the best and criticised everything else. His mind was blank, his whole body moving at its own accord. There was no weight in his limbs, yet each step felt heavy. His breathing was irregular, yet no amount of 1-2-3-4 seemed to calm him down. His back ached, but his back truly did not exist. Bilbo tried to think of something, anything. His mind was dark, blank. No matter where he turned he saw shapes, weird shapes that could talk and walk and laugh and Bilbo was just there alone standing behind his Aunt as she led him around he had to be there and exist and there was nothing and no one around and his throat was dry he needed water but he did not have a bottle and what even was thirst but a passing moment and it would go away and it did go away.

Time passed, as it always did, yet each second felt longer as well as shorter than what it ought to be. His basket was getting heavier, and it would be later that he would realize it was not just his imagination. When he and Aunt Lobelia circled back to the beginning, Bilbo’s heart felt heavy. His stomach grumbled and his eyes remained down. The grass near his feet was soft green, a bit moist and probably would be amazing to open his shoes and run his feet but he could not because Aunt Lobelia was there.

“Well, this was lovely,” Aunt Lobelia exclaimed. Bilbo blinked. He did not know if it was lovely or not.

“Yes.”

“Had I known you were here I would have called you before,” she said, pulling out her phone, “Ever since Bungo has been back he hardly ever talks. Well, belladonna is not very fond of me, which is extremely ungrateful, isn’t it boy?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Yes. Now, why don’t you give me your number? We shall remain in touch.”

Somehow, he managed to fish out the phone from his pocket. He knew he spoke out the numbers to her but for the love of his life, he could remember what it was. He was vaguely aware of Aunt lobelia dropping a kiss on his cheeks and getting into a cab, but the cab was not there before. Bilbo followed the cab rush away and saw it until it disappeared on the horizon.

It was always like that. A car moving away, far away. A car that would never come back. He never ran behind it, trying to chase it. He knew it was useless. The car would never come back. Nobody would come back. Coming back was a myth, it was all that existed and what did not exist and if it were up to him he would not exist and just watching somebody go away wasn’t it intelligent to let go and move away and move on and never look back and see things-

“Mate? You okay?”

Bilbo blinked. The sun was setting. The Christmas lights had been switched on. Somebody was holding his shoulder.

“You have been standing here for ages.”

He was? Bilbo didn’t remember.

“Sorry,” mumbled Bilbo, “I will, will...I should, should go, go home.”

The man nodded. Bilbo shot him a smile. He thought it was a smile. His lips turned upwards a bit, but he wasn’t sure.

Bilbo let his feet carry him. Home. Home, a small house. His kitchen, some food and a couch. Books. Garden. His family. Home. Did the home exist? He did not think his home existed. It was so cold. Everything was so cold. Everyone was so cold. His students had not submitted their assignments yet. They did not care about the grades they did not care about the course they did not care about anything. Why was he still teaching when nobody wanted to study he was an utter fool he was still there standing somewhere and he was just being absolutely useless and just standing and why couldn’t he go somewhere or why did someone want to give him something it was impossible to just be and to exist and just.

Bilbo did not want to live.

He did not want to live. He wanted to go away in a car and never come back and never stop and just drive and drive and drive. Maybe he will reach a beach and dive into the ocean or maybe he would drive to East, to lands which he had only read about. He knew east of populous, no one would know him he would just be another somebody in the wide sea of people. But it would be warm and he did not like hot weather that could be his end or just getting lost in the desert or in a crow or a river or anything like that just-

A loud horn screeched and Bilbo doubled back as a car stopped right in front of him. Those bright lights were blinding. Bilbo immediately backed down and then he was falling over the street and the car moved on.

Bilbo blinked. Where was he? He did not recognize the road. He did not recognize the place. It was...it wasn’t where he lived.

His hands were shaking. His legs were shaking. His throat was dry. His stomach was rioting. Something was wrong.

Somehow, Bilbo managed to pull out the phone from his pocket. He switched it on. 7:49 PM. Battery at 11%. It was Friday. Did he not have classes? There were messages. Calls. Some mails. A few texts.

Some part of his brain directed him to map. He opened it. He could still not figure out where he was.

With trembling fingers, Bilbo opened his contacts. There was Prim. Primula, his sister.

Then his father.

Then his mother.

Then his colleague.

Bilbo continued to scroll down, not even paying attention to who he was calling until his phone was pressed to his ears.

“Bilbo?”

The voice was soothing, calm, deep. It was something quite against the mindless noise around him.

“Hello,” he said softly.

“Are you okay?”

Bilbo made a sound. He was not sure what it was.

“Okay, Bilbo, can you tell me five things you can see right now?”

That was a weird request, but Bilbo complied.

“Um, I can see my hands? The road. There’s a car. A, um, I think that’s a dog. There’s a shop.”

“Good. Now, four things you can hear.”

Bilbo took in a deep breath. He could hear a lot of things, everything.

“There’s too much,” he whispered softly, voice breaking.

“That’s okay,” he said soothingly, “That’s absolutely fine. Is there anything?”

“I don’t know where I am,” Bilbo whispered, looking around, “This is not where I live.”

“Okay,” there was a sound on the other side, and Bilbo sat up a bit straighter.

“Sorry,” he said, getting his voice under control, “Are you, um, are you at work? I, I should, shouldn’t have called.”

“No, no, I was just leaving.” probably a lie. “Can you do something for me?”

“Um, yes?”

“If you open your map, there should be a share option. Do you think you can send it to me?”

Bilbo slowly pulled down the phone, his handshaking. He somehow managed to put the call screen away and did as Thorin asked him to do. Right, he had called thorin. Bilbo had no idea why he had called Thorin.

Once done, Bilbo pulled the phone back to his ear.

“Sent.”

“Great,” there was a sound fo a door shutting, “Now, I want you to stay exactly where you are. Can you do that?”

“Yes,” whispered Bilbo.

“Great. Would you like me to stay on the call?”

Bilbo shrugged, not really sure. Thorin took his silence as an answer and started talking about his nephews and how much effort it took him to get all the sand out of his office. It was funny, but that did not make him smile at all. He heard Thorin chatter until the phone switched off. Bilbo did not pull the phone back, hand still near his ear.


End file.
